


Losing You

by joshsmysteriousisland



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Drinking, F/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 06:50:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2956409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joshsmysteriousisland/pseuds/joshsmysteriousisland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peeta and Haymitch get drunk on the Victory Tour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Losing You

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there!
> 
> So this is probably not the best I can do and was one of my first fics ever written, but I wanted to put something out there. This is a short drabble done by request more than a year ago. It follows the scene between Katniss and Peeta on the train, during the Victory Tour where Katniss and Peeta are talking about their nightmares. At the time I had no idea how to write drunk Peeta and Haymitch.
> 
> All mistakes are mine. All characters and world belong to the queen, Suzanne Collins.

_“It’s not necessary. My nightmares are about losing you,” he says. “I’m okay once I realize you’re here.”_

_Ugh. Peeta makes comments like this in such an offhand way, and it’s like being hit in the gut. He’s only answering my question honestly. He’s not pressing me to reply in kind, to make any declaration of love. But I still feel awful, as if I’ve been using him in some terrible way. Have I? I don’t know. I only know that for the first time, I feel immoral about him being here in my bed. Which is ironic since we’re officially engaged now._

_“Be worse when we’re home and I’m sleeping alone again,” he says._

At this, Peeta tosses the covers off of himself, the sullenness of his comment weighing on both of our shoulders. When he rises, the loss is immediate, and I feel selfish for wanting him to stay, but we both have things assigned to us by our dear old mentor, and Effie.

“I’m going to find Haymitch.” He says, reaching the door and grabbing his shoes, which he had, unbeknownst to me, placed in the same spot as every night, neat and straight against the wall. He had dressed quickly and ducked out the door by the time I had sat up, and it left me wondering where he could be heading with Haymitch in such a hurry. I didn’t need to know everything that went on in this train, but things that had to do with either of them, tended to peak an interest in me.

I slowly rose from the bed, and with promises of a shower before bed, changed out of the night clothes that had been laid out for me. I’m quickly dressed, and padding down the halls of the train until I come across the ever repugnant smell of alcohol drifting through the stuffy compartment.

_Haymitch._ Where ever there’s alcohol, there’s Haymitch. Peeta had said he was going to see him, so I assume they’re gathered in his pig sty of a room. The door is a cracked open in the slightest, just to give me a view of what’s going on, and to hear what they’re saying, but not enough so they can’t see me. I let out a small breath and hoped that no one would walk by as I listened into their conversation.  

“I just  _can’t_ anymore, Haymitch.” Peeta slurs, and I’m beginning to believe that he now comes here just to drink, instead of talk strategy, which is a possibility, since we all know, Haymitch has been looking for someone to drink with since his last encounter with Chaff, the victor, and mentor from District 11.

Haymitch scoffs, and takes a swig from the bottle of white liquor in his hand, before wiping his mouth and handing it to Peeta, who does the same. “She’s got a stick up her ass, boy.” He replies, shaking her head. “It’s going to take time.” After dinner each night, you would sometimes see the two together, but you had no inkling of what they might be doing. Now that I know, I wonder why I had never smelt the alcohol on him when he slipped into bed each night.

I didn’t stick around to listen to the rest of their conversation, to only hear the both of them complain of either Effie or I, so I wandered around the compartment, fiddling with the end of my braid out of habit. I took my time to assess who was all in the room, but it only appeared to be Cinna and Effie, who greeted me kindly as I took a seat across from the both of them.

None of us spoke as my plate full of the lavish food, and I sent a silent thanks. Effie was beginning to learn that words did not play a large part in my life, and for that I was grateful. In that moment, I knew that I could possibly spill what I had just seen between Peeta and Haymitch, and despite how angry it made me, I couldn’t do that. I had to let them have this time together. That wasn’t going to stop me from confronting Peeta himself, seeming as Haymitch wouldn’t do it.

A few moments later, the need for being worried about blurting out their actions seem silly, as Peeta and Haymitch stumbled in together, both laughing their heads off. I scowled and rolled my eyes, shaking my head as I violently stabbed a piece of egg onto my fork and shoved it into my mouth. Haymitch leaned over and whispered something into his ear, and Peeta’s eyes flickered toward me, before he let out another loud laugh.  

Before I even know it, I grab the flask that Haymitch has just received from his robe right from his hands and twist open the cap. I toss my head back, taking a long gulp of burning liquid, and then twist the cap back on as if nothing had happened. They both look at me in shock, but Haymitch quickly recovers and snatches back the flask from my hands. The burning in my throat is still present, but I choose to ignore it as I go back to what I had before. It’s not pleasant, even in the least. So why do they do it? Haymitch, sure, he’s an exception in my eyes. It only seems natural for him to drink. But why Peeta?

I try to rise and excuse myself back to my room, but Haymitch is having none of it. “Sit, sit!” He insists, shaking his head. “You don’t need to go back to that dreary old room of yours and sulk. You need to have fun!” My brows quirk at his suggestion. The word sounds foreign, and I begin to think of the last ‘fun’ thing I had done. Nothing comes to me, and I try to get up, but Haymitch reaches over the table and pulls me back down. He tosses the flask at me once more and it hits my chest, then falls to my lap. “Drink up, sweetheart. You, Peeta and I are going to have some fun.” He says, an elfish grin appearing on his face.

                I hadn’t had a chance to escape, so here I was, completely sober as I watched two completely trashed, grown men challenging each other to see who can balance the most silverware on their faces. I roll my eyes as I watch Peeta lick one of the large spoons and try to get it to stick to his nose, but fails miserably. He gives a bit of a pout and tries again.

                Every time I’ve gotten up to leave, they’ve tried to get me to join them, but I’m not having any fun watching them as they be ridiculous. I haven’t been paying much attention, and doing more of staring out the window than paying attention to the two a few feet away from me. It’s only when Peeta’s shrill laughter, and staggering about lands him on his butt on the ground, and a yelp. I immediately go to find the source of the problem and stand, frowning when I find that Haymitch had pushed Peeta over in hopes to win, but causing him to hurt himself.

                When Peeta fell, he was clutching a very sharp steak knife in his hand, and cut himself a pretty nice gash in the palm of his opposite hand. I crouch down next to Peeta and taking his large, bleeding hand into my own and examine it, but only get a few seconds before he tears it away.

“I’m fine.” Peeta mutters, looking away from me.

                I roll my eyes and shake my head. “No, you’re not.” I’ve never run into a problem like this with Peeta, and despite it only being a cut, I get that same, worried, twisting, uncomfortable gut twisting like whenever Prim is hurt. I knew enough that he’d need a few stiches to stop the bleeding, but I would tend to that in a moment.

                I stood and marched over to Haymitch, taking all of the silverware off of his face and scowling at him. “Go back to your room. I knew someone was going to get hurt.” I also knew that it was going to be Peeta. I don’t know how many times Peeta’s been drunk, but it doesn’t look like many. I moved back over to Peeta and grabbed his hand, helping him up.

                On the way back to my room, where there were one of many of first-aid kits in my bathroom, Peeta was mumbling things that sounded something along the lines of, “I never get to have any fun.” I just trudge on, eventually letting go of his hand when we get back to the room, and force him to the sink and turning on the cold water. I gingerly rinse the cut, despite his protests, and then sit him down on the toilet.

“Sit still.” I urge, using a small wipe of antiseptic around the edge of the deep gash. I knew it must’ve hurt, so I bit back another remark as he flinched. But it was going to be even worse in a moment when I tried to stitch his hand back together. I turned my back, gathering the small needle that I had sitting in a small bowl of the antiseptic and threaded it, before turning back to him and sighing. “Okay, just… take a deep breath or something.” She murmured. When he did so, she began to slowly connect the two pieces of flesh.

When I finished, I leaned back against the counter. He looked up at me, frowning. “I didn’t need your help.” He mumbled, standing and inspecting his hand. I just shakes my head and clean up the things, capping the peroxide and tossing it back in the small bag, before placing it back where I found it and making my way back into my room. If Peeta were sober, he probably would’ve thanked me, but I shouldn’t expect it from him anymore. I hurt him enough as it was. 


End file.
